


Kissing Booth

by RosYourBoat



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 23:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4644795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosYourBoat/pseuds/RosYourBoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princeton-Plainsboro hosts an Oncology Charity Carnival and Wilson barely has a chance to breathe while he organizes the effort. Of course, House has several choice remarks to make while he sits back and does precisely nothing to help, but in the end, together they manage to build something new and remarkable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissing Booth

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my recent excavation and expunction of all of my old fics from my hard drive to an online form, where they can be held as an indelible and inescapable memento of my past obsessions. These fics are all unbeta'd and heretofore unseen by anyone but me. I hope someone else feels some of the enjoyment I received from writing them.
> 
> "Kissing Booth" was written in August of 2009 and is complete.

A hospital with the size and reputation of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital is a large and unwieldy beast to run even on the best of days. Luckily for Lisa Cuddy and her sanity, she had a brilliant team of reliable, competent department heads to help shoulder the burden of keeping the hospital running smoothly. Except for House, of course, but Cuddy had long since accepted the exchange of one genius doctor for the bevy of problems he caused wherever he went. In turn, the rest of the hospital had followed her lead; avoiding the razor-tongued maverick whenever possible and giving only a token protest when he invaded their department chasing after another puzzle.

Only House’s team—both old and recently-established new—Stacy Warner, Dr. Wilson, and Cuddy herself could stand the man for any length of time; the former because they were forced to, Stacy by experience, and the latter two by choice. Stacy wasn’t around anymore and even Cuddy had her limits—very short limits. The truth was, Wilson really was House’s only friend and he wasn’t ashamed of that fact. After all, House was Wilson’s only friend as well.

Judging by the strange looks they received almost daily whenever they were together, most people found it hard to believe. As with most things associated with House, the strangeness of it rarely registered with Wilson after nearly twenty years. It was House, and that was enough for him.

“Dr. Wilson, if you could just double-check this for me?” Nurse Little, a harried-looking older woman who was Wilson’s head nurse, leaned over the counter and pushed over a folder that he readily recognized as the preparation plans for the oncology department’s charity carnival.

“Sure,” he said easily. Groaning inwardly, he took the folder and looked over the latest assignments and numbers. As department head, he had been planning this event for months and now that the main event was only a week away it seemed like it was starting to consume his entire life. The work was gratifying and it was for a good cause, but if he’d known it would be so complicated he would never have suggested it.

“This looks good,” he said, flipping a page. “It’s amazing that we were able to get so many of the attractions donated; that really saved our budget.”

“Having a nurse with an uncle in the carnie business is a real plus,” Nurse Little agreed, her smile faltering when she caught sight of something behind him.

“A dunk tank? Wilson, why didn’t you tell me you were going to fulfill my dreams of a wet t-shirt contest with the cheerleading team?” Wilson managed not to jump at House’s voice so close to his ear as the older doctor looked over his shoulder. Wilson closed the folder calmly and handed it back to Nurse Little.

“It looks great, Linda. If things go through, we’ll be set for next week. Keep up the great work.”

“Thanks, Dr. Wilson.”

Wilson continued walking, moving out of the oncology department and to the cafeteria. As he’d known he would, House followed, limping quickly to reclaim his usual position at Wilson’s side. The two walked through the halls at a steady pace that had developed after years of Wilson adapting to House’s limping gait, their shoulders brushing every other step and hospital personnel parting around them like a stream parts for boulders. They were silent until they entered the elevator.

“What’s happening next week?” House demanded.

“The Oncology Charity Carnival, remember? I’ve been planning this thing for months; surely you must recall all the movie nights I cancelled for it? Not to mention all the times I’ve complained about it.”

“You’re always complaining about something; I’ve learned to tune it out in order to preserve my sanity. And don’t call me ‘Shirley’.”

Wilson stifled a smile. “Very funny. Anyway, it’s next Friday and Saturday; you should come, if you can tear yourself away from your pressing social engagements in front of the TV.”

“Are we talking about a bearded-lady-and-midgets kind of carnival or a cutesy-clown-and-bobbing-for-apples kind of carnival?”

“It’s a make-money-for-the-oncology-department kind of carnival. It’s for a good cause; donors and kids with their families will be there.”

“Oh yes, I can see how it would be horrible to miss such a stimulating convention of idiocy.”

“It wouldn’t be terrible to show up for a couple hours and avoid anyone with money and their families, would it? And there’s cotton candy and hot dogs; you love that stuff.” Wilson pressed as they worked their way through the cafeteria line and sat at their usual table.

“Only when you buy it for me, shmookums,” House replied, batting his eyes outrageously before stealing Wilson’s roll. “Even all the magical blue cotton candy in the world wouldn’t make it worth it to go watch idiots being idiots. I get enough of that at work.” He leveled his blue eyes curiously at Wilson, assessing. “And you know that, so why are you pushing this? What could you—or Cuddy—gain from having me attend a fund raiser?”

Wilson blustered, not really having an answer himself. “Nothing. Fine, don’t come. I don’t care.”

House gave him a speculative glance but didn’t respond. Wilson changed the subject.

* * *

 

The rest of the week passed without another mention of the carnival between the two friends. As the days passed, however, Wilson became more and more quietly frantic. More and more responsibilities were being heaped on him until he was ready to crawl under a rock and never emerge until well after the carnival. Problems cropped up out of nowhere and he was nearly pulling out his hair while scrambling to solve them.

Finally, the day of the carnival arrived, clear and bright. The food booths were well-stocked and the games were well-attended. Hundreds of people—college students, children, families, and donors alike—came through during that first day and Wilson was back and forth across the fairgrounds, overseeing each booth and making sure everyone knew what they were doing. It was actually kind of fun and not nearly as stressful as he had thought it would be. The nurses and volunteers had been trained well and there were only a few minor problems.

Wilson didn’t see House at all that day, even when he took a break at lunch and sat under the shade of a tree with a hot dog and a cone of blue cotton candy. He wasn’t really expecting House to come, especially after the protest he had put up a few days before, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking out for him. It felt strange not to have to share his food.

The next morning, Wilson arrived at the fairgrounds in high spirits. Except for an incident with a poorly aimed dart, the carnival seemed to be going swimmingly. He had already collected several thousand dollars of donation money and expected more today, on a Saturday. Things went just as well that day as they had the day before—if not better—when Nurse Nancy from the kissing booth approached him.

“Hi, Dr. Wilson!” she said cheerily, her long, curled ponytail swinging perkily behind her as she smiled cutely. She wore a tight-fitting traditional nurse’s costume and her lips were perfectly red and full.

“Hi, Nancy, how are you? Tired of kissing yet?” Wilson asked, turning away from the water tank where Nurse Brad was being repeatedly dunked.

“Never!” Nancy replied with a wink. “I just wanted to drop by and let you know that I’m leaving now. Have you sent my replacement over yet?”

“Uh, your replacement?” Wilson repeated blankly. “You’re leaving?”

She frowned. “My brother’s wedding is tonight, remember? I told you about it when I first volunteered for the kissing booth. I told you that I had to leave early on Saturday and you said you would find a replacement.”

“Oh, no.” Wilson groaned, scrubbing a hand down the side of his face. He remembered the conversation now, but he had completely forgotten to get a replacement for her. “Of course, I had forgotten. Yes, of course you can leave, but we may have to close down the kissing booth. Everyone else is being used at the other booths and we really don’t have a spare person.”

“Too bad. It was really one of the most popular attractions,” she said with a pout. Wilson didn’t doubt it; she was gorgeous.

“Yes, it’s too bad,” Wilson said, frowning. They had counted on the kissing booth being one of the major money-bringers and it was still early afternoon. They hadn’t even gotten the night crowds yet.

She giggled. “Well, _you_ could always take my place. I’m pretty sure no one would mind paying money to kiss _you_.”

Wilson blinked. He managed an absent goodbye when she left, but his mind was deep in thought. It wasn’t a bad idea, actually. There was no one else available, he wasn’t really busy, and really, how hard could it be? He was _the_ Panty-Peeler of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, after all.

Fifteen minutes later, Wilson was down to his rolled-up shirt-sleeves, his hair mussed and his tie loose while he serviced his first costumer: an old woman who cackled and blushed after he pecked her on the lips. It was surprisingly entertaining. He kissed anyone who paid the dollar; from little girls’ cheeks to college girls to old women. Even a few men worked their way into his line, much to his astonishment. But he gave as good as he got and couldn’t say that he didn’t enjoy it.

Before he knew it, several hours had passed. He noticed that as word got around, more and more of his healthier patients and fellow colleagues from the hospital wandered by his booth or even paid for a kiss. Cuddy had come by not long after he had taken Nancy’s place and had paid him a dollar with a wink. He had given her a chaste kiss, much to the pleasure of the hospital employees manning the surrounding booths, who howled and cat-called at them. Truthfully, Wilson didn’t even think of House once until he looked up at his next customer and saw a pair of very familiar piercing blue eyes staring back at him.

Inexplicably, he blushed up to his ears.

“H-House!” he stammered in surprise. Then he frowned in confusion. “House? What are you doing here? I thought this was too idiotic for you to grace us with your presence.”

“The hospital couldn’t stop buzzing about the little show you’re running down here. I thought I would come down and see what the fuss was all about.”

“Oh? And did it meet your admittedly low expectations?” Wilson asked sarcastically.

“Well, I won’t know until I get the full effect.” House slapped a dollar on the counter between them and raised a challenging eyebrow. “Well? Do you think you can handle it, Mr. Panty-Peeler? Lay it on me.”

Like a scene from an old western, it seemed like the surrounding area had fallen silent, breathlessly anticipating the event to follow. A crumpled wrapper from a caramel apple skittered across the counter in a breeze.

Wilson gaped. “Seriously?” he asked uncertainly.

“Seriously.”

And to Wilson’s eternal surprise, House actually _was_ serious. House’s eyes, despite the devilish gleam dancing in them, were held unwaveringly on his and his expression was just as intent as when he was working toward a difficult diagnosis. Wilson eyed his best friend for a long moment before shrugging.

“Okay.” And he leaned forward, reaching up to slide a hand to the back of House’s neck and pull him down to meet his lips. For the first endless seconds, Wilson could only think about how soft House’s lips were and how hard his heart was beating. The kiss was a chaste press of lips at first, but then House shifted and tilted his head, pressing his lips harder against Wilson’s and scraping his chin with his stubble as if to say “Is that all you’ve got?”

Taking up the gauntlet with both hands, Wilson opened his mouth with a hot gasp and licked at House’s bottom lip, begging for entrance. The diagnostician opened readily and Wilson immediately dove inside as if the cure to cancer was hidden somewhere behind House’s molars. He explored the heated depths of House’s blue-cotton-candy-flavored mouth, sucking on his tongue and nipping at his bottom lip with heated pants of breath. Somehow his hand had tangled in the hair at the nape of House’s neck and the other was grasping House’s shoulder for dear life.

They broke for air and one of them—Wilson was afraid it was him—made a thin, needy sound in the back of their throat and House was giving him a hungry look and then they were kissing again and House wasn’t holding back this time and oh my, he was quite a good kisser as well. His hand buried in Wilson’s hair while the other gripped Wilson’s tie and his tongue was enthusiastically mapping every inch of Wilson’s mouth. The only sounds in Wilson’s ears were wet sucking, harsh breaths, low groans, and the frantic beating of his heart. If they didn’t stop soon, he was afraid of having a coronary.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, House gentled the kiss and pulled away with a last nip that made Wilson whimper. The dazed oncologist gripped the counter for support, his hair even more mussed, his clothes rumpled, his eyes large and dark with arousal and his lips wet and kiss-swollen. House watched him with a smug smirk, his own iris a mere ring around the darkness of his pupil as he took in the effect the kiss had had on his best friend.

Wilson gradually became aware of the spontaneous cacophony of whistles and applause that had started up around him and he couldn’t stop the blush that spread from his cheeks. He smiled sheepishly and vaguely waved to the crowd.

“I… uh, wow,” he told House incoherently. He licked his lips unconsciously at the memory. “Hmm… that was…”

“My thoughts exactly,” House agreed with a grin that was strangely genuine. “Guess it lived up to your promises. We should do this again sometime. See you later, Wilson.”

“Night, House,” Wilson responded automatically, watching his best friend limp away as if from a distance. He absently touched his tender lips with his fingers. Huh.

The next few hours passed in a blur with that one kiss always lurking in the back of his mind. It wasn’t every day that you kissed your male best friend of fifteen years for the first time, after all, and enjoyed it so thoroughly. He wondered why House did it. An experiment? A prank to mess with Wilson’s mind? Or was he trying to tell Wilson something?

Of course, he and House had lightly flirted for years as a kind of inside joke about the rumors that had run around about the two of them ever since they had first become friends and started working at the same hospital. But ever since he had divorced Julie, Wilson couldn’t help but step back and reevaluate how he was living his life. Working through women like they were Kleenex, using them and marrying them and then discarding them when he didn’t find what he was looking for or got bored. He had decided that he would swear off dating until he had figured himself out a bit more.

That’s when he had started thinking about House. His friendship with House had outlasted and consumed two of his marriages. And despite the frustration, worry, and monetary drain that came part and parcel with that friendship, House kept reeling him back like a yo-yo. House truly was a good friend to him, the most loyal he had ever had, and Wilson knew that he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

And besides, House was certainly never boring.

After the last carnival-goer had left and the cleaning crew started up, an exhausted Wilson dropped off the money that had been donated or earned in his office before walking down to his car and automatically driving to House’s apartment. He stayed there almost as often as his own apartment and House had promised take-out and beer that night.

After knocking on the door and receiving the invitation to come in (“You have your own damn key, Wilson, just open the door already!”), Wilson walked in to the familiar and welcome sight of his best friend on the couch with the promised victuals laid out on the coffee table like a feast. Tossing his jacket over the back of the couch, he collapsed on it next to House and immediately reached for the box of chow mein.

“Hungry?” House asked, watching Wilson scarf down the food in amusement.

“ _You_ buying _me_ food—for once—is practically unheard of. I wanted to eat something before the four horsemen come to destroy the world,” Wilson shot back after swallowing. House snorted, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. They watched the TV in comfortable silence while Wilson ate. When he was full, Wilson sat back and sipped slowly on his beer, finally relaxing after weeks of stressful administration. He really didn’t know how Cuddy did it all the time, especially with House running loose around her hospital.

When House switched to _The L Word_ and put it on mute, Wilson got up to use the restroom and when he returned, he sat back down on the couch with a steadying breath.

“We should talk,” he said.

“Oh, God,” House groaned.

“Well, come on, we can’t just pretend that we didn’t make out for five minutes today.”

“Well, maybe _you_ can’t, but I was doing fairly well.”

“House, why did you do it?”

“No reason.”

“There has to be a reason. It had to mean _something_!”

“Do you _want_ it to mean something?”

“People don’t generally go around kissing their same-gendered best friend of fifteen years without a reason, House.”

“Maybe I do.”

Wilson threw up his hands. “Why are you being so damn stubborn right now? I just want to know if there’s something you’re trying to tell me!”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Wilson.”

“What if I _liked_ it?” Wilson blurted, feeling a blush rise in his face. He hadn’t blushed so much since high school. “What if I had wondered what it would be like to kiss you and it was better than anything I imagined? What if I’m thinking that the thing I’ve always wanted it right in front of me and I want to explore it? What then?”

An awkward silence fell over the room. House stared blankly at Wilson, his expression unreadable. Wilson felt his heart beating hard again, though this time for completely different reasons. He gulped, trying to think of a way to salvage their friendship if he was wrong about House’s intentions. Could he blame it on the beer? No, he and House had only had one each; not nearly enough for a mistake of these proportions.

“Then, you have to agree to one thing,” House said, making Wilson jump when the silence was broken. “I’m a monogamous kind of guy and I don’t date idiots. You get one chance; you cheat on me like I’m one of your pretty little housewives and I’m gone.”

He was completely serious, possibly more serious than Wilson had seen him since the Tritter debacle. Wilson nodded slowly, knowing just what this was costing him. House rarely took risks with his vulnerable trust and with Wilson’s checkered history with women and fidelity, he was a pretty big risk.

“I won’t cheat on you,” he promised, holding House’s eyes steadily. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you and my screw-up with women lately. I know this is what I want.” He hesitated before touching House’s knee lightly. “I know it’ll take a while before you believe that. We’ll go slow, as slow as you want.”

House captured his wrist before he could pull back and Wilson’s breath caught at the devilish grin on his best friend’s face. House tugged him closer.

“We already had a make-out session. Seems like a good place to start, huh?”

Wilson wasn’t given a chance to respond verbally, but he made sure to show House just how much he agreed.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Liked my writing? You might like my Tumblr. rosyourboat.tumblr.com


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